


The Story of How I Took Matters Into My Own Hands (And It's EXACTLY What You Think)

by stephrc79



Series: The Life of Bucky Barnes [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool (2016)
Genre: A bear dog that is everyone's friend but Wade's, A nude Wade Wilson, And Deadpool's all about that, Because Wade would very much like to strangle her, Breaking and Entering, Breaking the Fourth Wall, But he manages to steal shit from hogwarts, But he saw it coming, But it's Road House Patrick Swayze, Hacking, IT'S NOT MY FAULT WADE, Inappropriate thoughts about a computer, M/M, Mention of jerking off to Patrick Swayze, Mentions of the writer, Other, Potential violence against Deadpool, STEP AWAY FROM THE WRITER WITH BEA AND ARTHUR, Sinful thoughts that will surprise nobody, so its okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:29:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6308917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down, and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, and I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.</p><p>Or the story of how I, one Wade Wilson, broke into the apartment of the disgustingly perfect lovebirds, Barnes and Noble. </p><p>(You know, like it's <i>hard</i>).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of How I Took Matters Into My Own Hands (And It's EXACTLY What You Think)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
> _**"Oh Steve, I love you…Oh Bucky, I love you even more” *kiss kiss kiss*. JFC, aren’t you bored of all this sappy bullshit? Let’s take a break with some quality material before going back to your weekly dose of glucose. I just wanted to let you know that my movie is out today and that, of course, it’s rated R! Yes, that’s it! And now back to the Romeo and Juliet of modern days _except that Juliet has one arm missing and that they don’t really die. Still a f**king mess that doesn’t make any sense, but they make it through. Barnes, let’s pretend this post never happened, shall we? (PS: visit Canada, it’s cool, there are giant caribous, and if you show this pic at Tim Hortons, they’ll give you…nothing because they’ve never heard of me. Bastards.)**_  
>  ~~~~

You know, I don’t ask for much in life. A warm bed, a properly sharpened katana, a poster of Patrick Swayze in Road House to jerk off to... The simple things.

You know what I don’t ask for? For this fucking writer to sit on her _lazy_ ass and not get around to writing the story of me breaking into Barnes and Rogers’ apartment again so I could leave a little note on Barnes’ Instagram about my movie coming out.

Seriously, Stephanie, what the _fuck_ have you been _doing?_ My movie came out over a _month_ ago!

(I should have just killed her and found someone else to write it, but the problem is I _like_ her, and I would have _felt bad._ Colossus would be so proud.)

Luckily for her, I was able to skip on over to Hogwarts, and grab this nifty little time-turner thing and take us back to when my movie came out, so I could break in when I actually fucking _needed_ to break in.

(But I swear to fucking God, Stephanie, if you fuck this up, I’m coming after your ass. No more Mr. Nice Merc.)

Okay, so where was I? Right. Breaking into Jack and Rose’s apartment. You’d think it would be easy, seeing as how I did it all those months ago (oh, I’m sorry, all those months PLUS ONE MORE MONTH ago), but either Pretty Boy One or Pretty Boy Two saw fit to upgrade their security since then, and I’ve been standing here for ten minutes trying to get past their damn biometric scanner. Clearly Stark-grade, but seriously, who needs a fingerprint scanner, _plus_ a number code, _plus_ a retinal scan, _plus_ some... what the fuck is this, a _key_ lock? Who uses _keys_ anymore? I mean, fuck, I don’t even have _a_ lock on my door. But then, I also don’t have real furniture, so...

Fuck this; I’m going in through the neighbors’ door. I’m sure they’re friendly. The red suit only tends to scare little kids, and only the really pansy ones.

Breaking into the neighbors’ place takes all of about seven seconds, considering they only have _just_ the key lock (and what is up with _keys_ in this place, it’s supposed to be super rich here, and I just — forget it). I heft my bag of props onto my shoulder and slip in.

The neighbors’ place isn’t half bad. Lots of blues and earth tones — very Martha Stewart meets Riker's Island. But a lot less depressing, you know what I mean? Riker's Island is _way_ more pleasant than being surrounded by that much decoupage.

It doesn’t feel like anyone’s home, so I’m not exactly trying to be quiet about this while I head towards the bedroom in the back. The layout’s the same as the one I need to get into, only backwards, so I know that the bedrooms and dining room are the only rooms with windows that open. I head towards the dining room, since it’s closest to next door, only to freeze as I step around the corner.

Because I’m greeted with a _fucking_ bear.

(Excuse me while I take a moment to address Stephanie here, because _why the fuck is there a bear in an upscale apartment in the middle of Brooklyn?_ )

(Oh, don’t give me that _shit_ that it’s a large dog, not a bear. I know what a dog looks like, and that’s —)

That thing is coming right at me. It's making loud noises and coming _right_ at me! I glance around, because _shit,_ it's going to eat my face off. Which, fair enough, it isn’t much of a face to begin with, but at least I still have all the _pieces_ —

Next thing I know, I’m on my ass, my bag flying out of my hand, the beast doing some sort of snuffling thing around my face. Okay, maybe _not_ eating my face off. I still don’t trust it though; it weighs more than I do, and it’s just _fur._ Everywhere. And its snout and saber-teeth are way too close to the mug.

You think I should trust it; don’t think I don’t see your eye roll from over here. Because Stephanie _says_ it’s not a bear. But I’m also certain Cujo wasn’t originally a hell spawn, and this could still end in my demise.

I’m about to shove it off, when the thing flops down, head on my chest, and just _whines_ at me. And fucking-A if those aren’t the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Not falling for it. I _invented_ those sad eyes back when I could pass for pretty. And people felt bad for the sad eyes. Worked every time.

All right, _fine._ But if this thing makes me noseless, you guys are answering to Bea and Arthur. They’re not nearly as friendly as I am.

Slowly — oh so slowly — I peel my mask back. I’m still nervous that the _actual_ face is going to scare this thing crazy, but it just whines at me again and scoots up, nosing at my chin. I take the mask off entirely, and me and Cujo just stare each other down.

“Uh, hey there, boy. Boy? Creature?” I slowly bring a hand up to pet its — admittedly — soft fur. “I’m not one to place gender roles, not even on devil beasts.”

It whines at me again and gives me the sad eyes. This is it. I’m done for. Give all my worldly possessions to Buffy. She’d get a kick out of Bea and Arthur.

The ~~bear~~ dog inches again, and I wince, waiting for the inevitable...

 _Lick_ that goes straight up from my chin to my lack-of-hairline.

“Oh, disgusting!” I grab on to roll us over, and the thing barks happily at me, the shady bastard. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I tell it, as it jumps up and begins dancing around me, barking its happy asshole bark. I point a finger at it. “You should know, I don’t let just anybody lick me. You should be thankful you’re a bear-dog. Otherwise we’d be having words.”

I stop and think about what I just said.

 _“Other_ than the words we’re having now.”

It barks at me again to let me know it understands. Dick.

Knowing full well this thing isn’t going to eviscerate me, I get back to my task, throwing my mask back on and grabbing my bag from where it had skittered to a stop against the living room window. I stop and look out at the Manhattan Bridge, because huh. It does sort of have a Paul Reiffer feel to it. Not that I would know. I have standards when it comes to photography. Usually of the Fisher Price variety.

I can’t escape the beast as I head back to the dining room, but luckily he doesn’t follow me out the window. I can explain a hacked photo on Instagram. I can’t explain a dog falling out of a window. Pretty sure you all would be pissed at me. Pretty sure _Stephanie_ would be pissed at me. And I need her to write this damn thing, so I make sure to close the window behind me as I _Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol_ my way over to Wesley and Princess Buttercup’s place.

(I’m sure you can guess which one is Princess Buttercup. I mean, come on, it’s _so obvious._ )

Now, to be fair, I have no idea if this window I’m about to break into is rigged. It wasn’t the last time I was here, or it wasn’t turned on, or something. But this _is_ the home of two of the world’s biggest ~~blowhards~~ soldiers, who are friends with the world’s _actual_ biggest ~~blowhard~~ genius, and I can’t assume they don’t have this thing rigged to Fucktown.

Meh. Fuck it. I know for a fact they aren’t even in the county, so I don’t have to worry about them. I also happen to know that it takes S.H.I.E.L.D. agents exactly six minutes and twelve seconds to get here if they place needs to go on lockdown.

And as any of my ex-fuckbuddies will tell you, I only need three.

I jimmy the lock and slither in (okay, tumble in and land ass up; why must you piss all over my story?). Sure enough, I immediately see a small red light flash in the corner, and can only assume it’s going off in every room. Okay then! Looks like I need to nut up.

I grab my bag and make a dash for the living room. It’s the largest one, so easily the best place for me to set up. And I waste no time doing just that. Because I know what apartment I’m in, and they aren’t gonna send the mall cops to collect whoever broke in. And Agent May scares me as much as she makes me think naughty thoughts.

Luckily, since _someone_ couldn’t be bothered to write this story for me in a _timely manner,_ I’ve had time to stage this out and practice getting the whole rig up and down, with photo taken, in under four minutes (I wasn’t accounting for the photo when I just told you three). Sure enough, I’ve got the drape and sign up in sixty seconds, and I’m just looking for a usable power outlet when I hear:

“Excuse me, Mr. Wade. May I inquire as to what you’re doing in Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes’ apartment?”

I freeze, my hand inches from plugging in this beautiful setup. I know that voice. I look around. “That’s Mr. Deadpool to you, JARVIS.”

“Excuse me, sir, I forgot how melodramatic you could be.” Melo — _hey!_ “Mr. _Deadpool,_ may I ask what you’re doing here since I seem to also have you placed at a press event in California at the moment?”

Shit. I forgot about the two me’s. Slight flaw in my plan, but I can work with it.

“The writer of _The Life of Bucky Barnes_ couldn’t be bothered to write this little story I needed her to write when I needed it written — which is _now_ — so I’ve come back in time to get it done when I need it to get done, and so that’s what I’m doing. Which includes breaking into the Super Boyfriends’ apartment, taking my photo, and hacking into Metalhead’s Instagram to post it on his account.”

Never let it be said that ‘work with it’ doesn’t involve me word-vomiting the truth. It’s just a lot more fucking efficient this way.

“And you aren’t worried about disrupting the space-time continuum, since I’m certain the photo doesn’t exist on the account where you come from in the future?”

“I’m Deadpool. If I can break the fourth wall, I’m pretty fucking sure there _is_ no space-time continuum where I’m concerned.”

I’ll freely admit, my balls begin to sweat the longer JARVIS doesn’t answer me. He could be stalling me for S.H.I.E.L.D., and yes, as much as I want Agent May to do very violent things to me, I’m not entirely sure what would happen if I _don’t_ go back to my time. I’m crazy. But I’m not a fatalist. Not most of the time, anyway.

I’m just on the verge of praying to God, when Nuts ‘N Bolts speaks up: “I’ve run every known scenario possible — which I assure you is almost infinite — and while I can find innumerable instances where you are, without question, wrong, I have to support your theory that you are most likely correct. You do tend to be the exception to almost every rule.”

Okay, this feeling? It’s pride, right? I have to be feeling pride. “So does that mean I can keep going?”

“Considering you will attempt to complete your mission regardless of your timetable, I have taken the liberty of calling in a false alarm to the Rogers/Barnes residence. I don’t believe it would do well for the universe were you caught.”

“Thanks, J-Dogg.” I waste no time plugging the rig in and watch it light up like Christmas. I smack the wall, because yes, my Canadian ass is delighted. “You see that JARVIS?” I call out. “You see my little beauty?”

“It’s quite lovely, Mr. Deadpool. May I go now?”

I scowl at the ceiling. Buzzkill. “Yeah, fine. Just let me know if I need to know anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a smile, I add, “Enjoy the show, you little perv,” before standing up and stripping down, although the mask stays on. I doubt JARVIS is watching, but he _was_ designed by Tony. I put nothing past that man.

It takes me a second to get my camera set up and the bow to cover my glorious ass, but apparently I have all the time in the world now, so I don’t exactly care. I set the timer and go snuggle my dick into the pile of pillows I’ve set up (courtesy of the nearest couch). I’ve set it to take a few pictures, because I need to be the prettiest princess in all the land, and no way am I going to like whatever comes up first.

Once done, I grab the camera and make sure at least _one_ of them is usable (the fifth one) before dismantling everything and putting it all back in my bag. I debate for a second burying it somewhere just to see if it’ll still be there once I get back to my time.

Debating quickly turns to seriously considering, when — “Mr. Deadpool, please be aware that the Captain and Sergeant have landed at the Tower and are expected home in the next fifteen minutes. If you intend on completing your mission, I suggest you do so now.”

Shit. Okay, no time to find a place for this thing.

“Hey JARVIS, spare phone or tablet in this place?”

“As I would love to help you complete your mission as timely as possible, I would be remiss in actually conspiring with you. It’s not in my programming to be an accessory to an actual crime unless it’s one being committed by Mr. Stark.”

Shit. Okay, that was fine. Chances are, there’s something in the bedroom. Maybe an old phone in a drawer or something. The guys are tech whores who never don't seem to have the latest whatever. Must be nice.

“Though, Mr. Deadpool, it is _not_ against my programming to remind you that the front spare bedroom is a converted studio. And office.”

 _Office._ “JARVIS, if I could get my hands on your servers, I would kiss you.”

“Stop it. I’m blushing,” JARVIS responds, all dry and sassy. Seriously I _would_ kiss him. Maybe even short circuit him with a good makeout session.

I make sure the living room is cleaned up before running into the front room, and sure enough (seriously, _kiss you_ , JARVIS), there’s an iPad sitting on the desk. I wake it up to find it locked, but this part’s easy. I also spent my considerable downtime over the last month hanging around the lucky boy, and watching every time he typed in his passcode to his phone. With any luck, it’s the same on this iPad.

(Yes, I’m aware that if it’s not, I basically took a time-turner from Hogwarts, went back in time, and broke into this apartment for nothing. Shit happens.)

I type in 7865 and....YES! I look around, because _did you see that?_ Totally worked. Self-high-five, Wade.

I send the photo to the iPad, then pull up his Instagram. I load it up on Barnes’ account, and quickly type out a caption:

_"Oh Steve, I love you…Oh Bucky, I love you even more” *kiss kiss kiss*. JFC, aren’t you bored of all this sappy bullshit? Let’s take a break with some quality material before going back to your weekly dose of glucose. I just wanted to let you know that my movie is out today and that, of course, it’s rated R! Yes, that’s it! And now back to the Romeo and Juliet of modern days _except that Juliet has one arm missing and that they don’t really die. Still a f**king mess that doesn’t make any sense, but they make it through. Barnes, let’s pretend this post never happened, shall we? (PS: visit Canada, it’s cool, there are giant caribous, and if you show this pic at Tim Hortons, they’ll give you…nothing because they’ve never heard of me. Bastards.)_

I look it over and perfect. It’s perfect. _I’m_ perfect. I may look like the after effects of the meat grinder from the Double Meat Palace, but no one can pull off epic shit like I can.

Well, maybe Thor. But you always expect the cool shit from the pretty people. He doesn’t get a pass.

I’m just about to hit send when I remember that these images go up on that weird porn site, Tumblr (why Barnes posts everyday boring shit to a porn site, I'll never know). I'm about to panic and skip the Tumblr thing when I see the little button for it. I hit and hit send, sending my superior photo perfectionism out to be masses.

I delete my photo off the iPad and book it out of that place, going back the way I came. Cujo and I are old friends now, so no scary ~~bear~~ dog shenanigans, just a quick pat, and a “Hey, you beastly bastard!” as I run through.

I’m out the front door and passing _their_ front door as I head toward the stairwell, where I came in from.

(I know what you’re asking, why didn’t I just go through the front door of their apartment? Because JARVIS is as helpful as he is a sadist, and I wouldn’t put it past him to not tell me the door was electrified or something. I’ve caught him watching Terminator before. I know he fancies himself the next Skynet.)

I’ve barely opened the door to the stairwell when the elevator dings open, and _fuck._ There they are. I just barely catch the puce color of Bucky Bear’s face as he gripes, “How the fuck did he even _get_ into my Instagram,” and Steve’s laughter as he replies, “Oh, come on, baby, you have to hand it to the guy. Also, it’s funny as hell,” before I quietly let the door latch behind me.

I spin the time-turner thing, and it’s no time before I’m back in _my_ time. I smile in success and turn to head down the stairs —

— only to find myself face-to-face with what I can only assume is the infamous Winter Soldier stare. All flat and blank and sexy as hell. Now I get what the good Captain sees in him.

Barnes just points to the door behind me.

I throw up my hands. “I can explain.”

Barnes quirks an eyebrow my way, and it totally looks like he’s doing that breathy thing through his nostrils. Pretty sure that means the Winter Soldier is about to kill me for sport.

I resign myself to my fate and turn around.

Because _so_ fucking worth it. Definitely jerking off to that glare later tonight too.

~~~~

(Oh, and PS: Thanks, Stephanie, for finally getting off your fucking ass and writing this. Even if Barnes does kill me, I still owe you a beer.)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come play with Stephanie on ~~the porn site~~ Tumblr at [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Be careful, she bites. I mean, have you SEEN my body. It's a fucking clusterfuck, is what it is.  
> ~~~~
> 
> All the artwork for [the real fucking hero of this work](http://petite-madame.tumblr.com) can be found here on [Instagram](http://instagram.com/the_life_of_bucky_barnes/), and here on ~~the porn site~~ [Tumblr](http://the-life-of-bucky-barnes.tumblr.com). Have fun, kids!


End file.
